


Sex, Mud and Rock n Roll

by DoctorBilly



Series: Tales from the Billyverse [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: DimLock, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 01:18:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2090322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorBilly/pseuds/DoctorBilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Dimmock go undercover, sort of. A Billyverse tale with a touch of DimLock.</p>
<p>Tags: non-graphic consensual sex; case fic (just about); people trafficking </p>
<p>Set during <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2007438/chapters/4350534">Ice Blue Blond</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Sex, Mud and Rock n Roll

Dimmock sits at his desk at the Yard, shoulders tight, neck aching where he is hunched over his computer. There is no one else around. Why would there be? It is eleven at night, and the fluorescent lights are making his eyes ache. He is tired, headachy, and the paperwork is piled up from the two cases he'd got major leads on that week. 

He sighs, pulls a file towards him, swears as he rifles through it. Misfiled pages irritate him. He suspects that the lower ranks misfile them on purpose for the fun of winding him up. He knows he isn't that well-liked. Tries not to let it get to him. 

He needs to drink coffee _(or beer, or vodka, he's not fussed which)_ , eat, sleep, smoke, and have sex. In any order and combination. He is pissed off with Lestrade, who has pulled strings to get four days leave so that he can go to a rock festival, leaving him with the dirty work. 

A shadow falls on his desk. He groans, knowing without looking what has cast it. 

"Sherlock, please. I'm exhausted. And I need to eat…"

Sherlock scoffs.

"Transport…"

"To you, maybe. Some of us are mere mortals."

Sherlock snorts, dumping a holdall on Dimmock's desk. 

"Get changed. We have a case. Under cover."

"No. Please…"

Dimmock looks up. Does a classic double-take. 

"What are you wearing?"

Sherlock is dressed in tight jeans and a sweater. Under a navy reefer jacket. And lace-up boots. He looks shockingly un-Holmes-like. 

"Disguise. Obviously. Yours is in the bag. Put it on."

Dimmock looks around. There is no one else in the office. _What the hell._ He opens the bag, finds jeans, t-shirt, sweater and boots. And an army-green pea jacket. He strips off his suit and shirt, ignoring Sherlock's smirks, and pulls on the clothes. He rolls up his suit and pushes it into the bag, along with his shirt, tie and shoes. Shoves the bag in his desk drawer. No sense in worrying his colleagues when they arrive in the morning. He chuckles at the idea of someone finding Dimmock's clothes but no Dimmock inside them. _The case of the hollow man…_

"Okay. Where are we off to?"

"The roof, to start with…"

Sherlock sets off for the staircase, runs up two at a time with Dimmock trotting after him. They reach the roof, and Sherlock moves across to a pile of stuff by the lift housing, handing what looks like an army pack to Dimmock, a pair of waterproof boots and a fishing umbrella strapped to the outside. He shoulders a kitbag of his own. 

"Sherlock. What…"

"Wait. Ah…"

A loud thudding, a flare of light and a gust of hot wind makes Dimmock look up. Helicopter. Biggish, not one of the little "eye in the sky" jobs. Army green. Search and rescue, maybe? The helicopter lands, engine still running. Sherlock runs towards it, ducking under the rotors. Dimmock follows. They climb aboard. 

"Evening, sirs. Please strap in at the back. There's coffee and burgers in the box between your seats. No smoking on board I'm afraid. The flight should take about an hour and a half. Weather conditions are fair, should be a good trip."

They strap in, following the co-pilot's instructions. Once in the air, Dimmock opens the insulated box and digs out a paper-wrapped burger and a flask. 

"Food, Sherlock. Eat something."

"All right. Just this once."

Sherlock takes a burger. Dimmock pours coffee for them both, trying not to spill as the helicopter banks. 

"Now, what can you tell me?"

"Not much, just yet. More when we land. Put this on, and keep it on. Do not lose it."

_'It'_ is a wristband, with LEEDS and the date and a serial number printed on it. Dimmock puts it on. 

"Are we going…?"

"Shhh. Tell you later."

Sherlock leans back and closes his eyes. Dimmock looks out of the helicopter window at the twinkling lights below. Sherlock has been different since he came back from wherever he'd been for two years. Easier to get on with. More considerate. Dimmock sometimes wonders what can have happened to change him that much. 

*********

"This is a bit better than I expected."

"What did you expect, Theo?"

"More mud, I suppose. Portaloos. You know…"

The tent is bigger than Dimmock expected, with room for a double air bed, covered with a double sleeping bag. There is a zipped door leading to a kind of airlock and a second zipped door. Behind the second door is a very clean chemical toilet and a copious supply of toilet paper. 

"Did you seriously think that I would be prepared to spend four days in a tent with no access to proper toilet facilities?"

"Well, yeah. That's how it's always been when I've done festivals before. Go home with diarrhoea and trench foot…"

"Ugh. Anyway it's only the end of the first day, so you could still get mud. I packed a lot of wet wipes. At least we will be able to pretend to wash. And they'll be useful for cleaning up after…"

"After?"

Dimmock raises an eyebrow. He has no intention of making this easy. 

"You know. After…"

The eyebrow rises higher. 

"After sex, obviously."

Sherlock flushes. 

"Ah. There's going to be sex, is there?"

Dimmock clenches his teeth to stop himself laughing. He loves seeing Sherlock flustered. 

"Well of course there's going to be sex. If I'd thought there wasn't going to be sex I wouldn't have asked for you…"

"Oh. I'm your preferred sex object then? That's new."

"You're not a sex object. Although you are living up to your built-in nickname at the moment."

"Built-in…? Oh. _DI Dim_. Yeah. Okay. What's going on, Sherlock?"

"Let's go to bed and I'll fill you in."

Dimmock laughs.

"I hope you mean that figuratively as well as literally…"

He kicks off his boots and socks, strips off his jeans and jumper, and climbs into the sleeping bag. Sherlock slides into the bag behind him and wraps him in his arms and legs. 

"Lestrade is here. He's a VIP…"

"I know. I was a bit pissed off with him for swinging four days leave and leaving me with his rubbish…"

"I could have recruited Lestrade for this case, as he is here, but I've decided to let him stew in his Winnebago, while we have all the fun. I know you had a breakup recently. I know you haven't found anyone else to love you yet. You need sex. I need a Yarder. We both know we are good together. In bed as well as at work. This makes sense."

"Yeah. No strings?"

"No strings, Theo. Just four days of sex, rock and roll and chasing down a villain. It's a gift. From me to you. The case is people trafficking. There are a number of establishments here, food, entertainment, crafts, staffed by young men and women who have been trafficked. Someone is overseeing those establishments. That someone is our target."

"Doesn't sound like your sort of case…"

"I owe someone in the West Yorkshire Police a favour…"

"Do you know who our villain is?"

"Not yet, but I have my homeless network on it. They'll be coming in and out of the festival on day tickets, and will arrange to have their photographs taken in strategic places, with a particular face in the background each time. Artie Dughall will be taking the photos. You remember him from Billy Wiggins's party?"

"Yeah. Remember some of the photos as well…"

Dimmock laughs.

"You're confident we'll catch this bloke?"

"Completely confident. And you will get to see The Killers on Sunday night."

"Brilliant."

*********

It is the first time Dimmock has survived to day three of a festival without getting some sort of stomach upset. Sherlock has taken him around the food village, pointing out what is safe and unsafe to eat. 

"Noodles are safe. Rice is not."

"Why?"

"Noodles have to be eaten soon after cooking or they go claggy. No one will buy claggy noodles, so the stall holder will lose money. Rice can sit around all day, and be reheated. Bananas and oranges are safe because you peel the skins off. Shish kebabs are safe. Doner kebabs are not. Same reasons as noodles and rice. Don't eat vegan food. It's mostly raw and mostly unwashed. Facilities aren't the most sanitary here. Hygiene inspectors don't bother much. I shouldn't have to tell you about burgers…"

"Bit boring though. Noodles and bananas…"

"Hog roast should be avoided at all costs…"

"Okay. Why?"

"Hog roast is cut from the bone. It takes a lot of cooking, and they don't always allow enough time. Bacteria breed quickly in warm undercooked meat. It's all science, Theo."

"Okay. I defer to your expert knowledge, oh mighty Holmes."

*********

"Let's go back to the tent."

"It's three in the afternoon…"

"We need to have sex. In a variety of ways."

"Um. Ways we haven't tried yet?"

"Maybe. One or two…"

Dimmock gulps. He's never seen Sherlock like this. The consulting detective actually seems to be having fun.

"Afterwards, we'll need to put our waterproof boots on, because it's going to rain. You'll get your mud, Theo. We also need to avoid Lestrade, who is currently being diverted by Artie Dughall over by the kebab stall. Lamb shish, by the look of it. He knows what he's doing. We have a busy evening ahead, Theo. Need to get distractions out of the way."

They turn and walk back to the tent, Dimmock slightly less steadily than Sherlock. 

 

*********

***To:SH: Common denominator: Kavel's Kebabs. There's a delivery van three times a day. It's due again at eight tonight. Driver and mate. Plus Kavel. AD***

"The game is on, Theo. Don't forget your umbrella. Come on."

They leave the tent at a run, rubber boots slipping in the mud, which is finally making its presence known. Dimmock holds the brightly-coloured fishing umbrella over their heads, keeping them both as dry as possible. 

"Check the big screen, Theo. Artie's earned his money this weekend."

The big screens show images of the crowd as well as the stages. There is a repeating montage of different sections of the field. The food village comes up again and again. Every time it is Kavel's Kebabs, half a dozen different people with strange clothes and hairstyles having their picture taken. Each with a different undernourished-looking teenager in the background. The images flicker and cycle. 

"We're in that montage, 'Lock. He must be uploading straight from his camera, look."

There they are, under their bright umbrella. Sherlock smiles and waves. A few seconds later, an image of him does the same, three or four frames, cycling quickly. Then the scene switches to an older picture. Lestrade, eating a kebab. Then the cycle of young people, with a delivery van in some of the pictures. 

*********

***To:GL:Come at once, if convenient. SH***

***To: SH: Where? GL***

***To: GL: Look up. SH***

Lestrade has been wandering around the festival, trying to escape from his responsibilities in the VIP area. He looks up. A bright umbrella on the big screen catches his eye. Sherlock and Dimmock smile at him. _Sherlock and Dimmock?_ He groans. 

Screen-Sherlock seems to wave from in front of Kavel's Kebabs. Images change and flicker. Himself in front of Kavel's Kebabs. A brief flicker of himself and a naked Johnny Depp. Almost subliminal. He laughs. Photoshopped, from earlier in the day. These are Artie Dughall's pictures, then. _Teenager after teenager, ill-looking. The Kavel's delivery van._ He suddenly realises what he is seeing. He swears, and starts running. 

***To:GL: Kavel. NOW. SH***

Lestrade sidles around the back of the kebab stand, searching for something he can use. A tangle of baling tape. That will do. Kavel steps out of the doorway, and Lestrade brings him down, tying his hands with the tape, then his ankles. 

Dimmock appears at his side

"Hi Greg. Muddy enough for you?"

"Yeah. What do you want done with him?"

"Back of the van. Quick."

They hoist the trafficker into the van, and climb in after him. Sherlock starts the engine and they make their way carefully to the service area gates, which open to let them out. 

Lestrade looks around the van. Eleven frightened teenagers, shackled together. Three men. Two handcuffed and one tied hand and foot. 

"What have we got here, then? Trafficking?"

"Yeah. Thanks for helping out, Greg. Made it a quicker takedown. It's Sherlock's case. I'm only here for the sex, mud and rock n roll."

"Sex, eh? Glad one of us is getting some. Good to see a bit of mud though. I was beginning to think it wasn't a festival."

Sherlock opens up the back of the van. A group of uniformed officers, Yorkshire locals, pull the three men out, reading them their rights. The uniformed sergeant looks up from his notebook. 

"Who is the officer in charge?"

Sherlock nudges Dimmock.

"Er…that would be me. Detective Inspector Dimmock, New Scotland Yard. These youngsters will need to be processed. Is the social services team on the way?"

The sergeant nods, looking slightly surprised that this muddy young person is a DI. 

"How is it that the Met are involved in this, sir?"

"Pure coincidence. Just spotted Kavel here and thought we'd better pick him up. Now, I've got urgent business elsewhere, so if you don't mind, we'll take our leave. This collar's all yours."

The three detectives step back inside the service gates, closing them behind them, then stroll back to the festival. 

"Urgent business elsewhere?"

Lestrade's eyebrows are in danger of disappearing into his hair. 

"Mmm. Beer, I think. Bit of mad dancing. Maybe a bit more sex, later. Killers, tonight."

"Why would a kingpin be serving on a kebab stall?"

Sherlock scoffs.

"Obvious. He thought he was being screwed by his delivery team. And he was. He got eleven kids but paid for twelve. Multiply that by the number of deliveries…he had to check it out. And he really likes the Killers…"

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place towards the end of my longer fic [Ice Blue Blond](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2007438/chapters/4350534). It was originally going to be a chapter in that story, but it feels better as a standalone. 
> 
> My Dimmock's first name is Theodore.


End file.
